


So Clever For A Muggle

by Funkspiel



Series: Kinktober 2017 [8]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Ass Growth, Bondage, Detective Percival Graves, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gun Kink, Kidnapping, M/M, Muggle!Percival Graves, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, butt growth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: Detective Percival Graves is not just a Muggle. He is a Muggle who's onto Grindelwald and his dark machinations. Doing and seeing what no Auror has managed to pick up on. He's uncannily clever and observant for a Muggle, far too interesting to simply obliviate away.So Grindelwald takes him for himself, just to see how interesting his little detective really is.Day 10: Gun Play





	1. Chapter 1

****The man had been following him for days now, the clever little mouse. Muggle through and through, only… he was quite _keen_  for a Muggle. Observant. Not just of the ordinary, but also the extraordinary. And he was getting close to the truth.

In a way, Grindelwald wanted to use him as a case study - this New York City detective. He wondered what he might do, how he might react. Would all Muggles react as he might? Surely not, he thought as he poured himself a glass of whiskey - slow and meticulous and torturous, so his captive might hear him and wonder. Blindfolded, caught in the dark with nothing but sound and Grindelwald’s tender mercy to keep him company.

Back to his captive, he considered the tray he had before him. A simple layout to be sure. A tumbler of whiskey, a single glass. The gun and pocket knife he had found on the cop’s person. His vest. A badge, a wallet, some keys and change. A little notebook. He took a sip of his drink and waved one hand over the book, eyes scanning over the pages as days of notes flickered up from the page to swirl around him in glowing letters.

_December 22nd, nothing out of the ordinary - beyond the normal, that is. Appears out of seemingly nothing in an alley outside the Woolworth Building. A rookie I set up to stakeout his apartment confirmed that someone had been active in it this morning, but no one had actually left the apartment. Other than that, no back alley visits with that orphan today._

_December 23rd, he fired an underling today. Someone I had seen with him before. She went and arrested someone anyway - or at least, it looked like she arrested him. Saw her show off a badge I’ve never recognized. Was too far away to make it out. But there’s no agency in that building that I know of…_

_He visited the crime scene, too. The apartment complex that was all torn up by another “gas leak”. There’s something at play here, and the people that work in that building and the strange happenings around town are connected. I’m sure of it._

_December 24th, he visited the child agai–_

It stopped there, because that was the precise moment Grindelwald had simply slipped behind the detective at the bar and spelled him asleep with a murmured word and a firm hand on his shoulder. A quick ‘I’ll see him home, he’s been working too hard, this one,’ to the bartender was all he needed to spirit him away right from under the nose of friendly faces.

And now he was here. Bound to a chair. Blindfolded. Sweaty nervously, teeth grinding around the gag that kept his cheeks pulled back. 

“Clever boy,” Grindelwald said, waving his hand as though shooing flies, dispelling the words that surrounded him like smoke. Gingerly, he swept the badge into the air and opened it, letting it hover. “Mister… Percival Graves. How regal.”

In his chair, Graves jerked and the chair jerked with him, scraping loudly against the floor. Grindelwald chuckled, a soft “how cute” under his breath. 

He turned to regard him. Took in the trembling of his sweat loosened hair, the clenching of his fingers on the armrests his wrists were bound to. Breathing heavily through his nose. Heart pounding.

“Do you know what you’ve stumbled onto, detective?” Grindelwald asked, and when the man scowled around his gag, he chuckled - more than aware of the limitation as he said, “Silly me,” and waved the gag away. 

Graves stilled. Because it had not been  _taken_ from him, nor untied or cut. It had simply dissolved, as though it never had existed, and Grindelwald could see him grasping at straws. 

He waited for the breakdown. It didn’t come.

Instead, Graves licked his dry lips and said, “I was never a God fearing man, until I ran into you… you’re a demon.”

And  _that_  had Grindelwald genuinely laughing. With a mirthful snort, he shot back the remainder of his drink before making his way across the floor to plop heavily down in his captive’s lap, straddling him suggestively. Powerfully. Like a great cat playing with its prey. He leaned back, his spine a long and arching stretch, before leaning in again to breathe in Percival’s fear.

“Not quite,” he said softly, purring. “But I’m flattered.”

Graves pursed his lips, every muscle made of stone as he tensed. “You’re not a man,” he said, convicted.

Grindelwald caressed his face, smiling when the detective jerked his jaw away, and said, “I am a man. Just not as you know it. You see, I am  _more_  than any man or woman you’ve ever met. And there is no shortage of  _me.”_

“And what are you?” Graves asked around a thick swallow he tried to stifle.

“Hmmm… how about I show you? And if at the end you guess correctly, I’ll let you go.”

But before he could so much as say a word different, Grindelwald swooped forward to slip his tongue between Graves’ lips. The detective beneath him jerked and grunted before biting down hard, copper blooming between them. With a sucking, shuddering gasp, Grindelwald pulled back - his lips peeled into a bloody, excited smile. 

“Feisty,” he said. “Good. Anything else would be disappointing after you’ve proved to be so interesting for so long.”

And at that, Graves stiffened - jaw clenched.

“Oh yes, I’ve noticed you, dear boy. Such a clever little Muggle you are. I’m almost tempted to keep you.”

“I was careful,” he said.

“You were. For a Muggle. But I’m a— ah, ah, ah,” he said, catching himself. “Almost dear, almost.”

He pulled away to his feet, leaving the man alone and shivering in his chair before finally snapping his fingers. At the sound, the detective flinched - only to immediately look ashamed. Cheeks flushed from the absolutely natural reaction, and Grindelwald couldn’t be more pleased. 

At the snap, the blindfold left him, and for the first time Grindelwald’s little pet detective got to open his eyes. He blinked in a flurry, eyes sensitive to the light, only to immediately flicker down to his bindings.

Bindings that… weren’t there. He jerked his wrists and sure enough he  _felt_ bound, but there was no visible binding to the naked eye. He moaned, low in his throat, and looked up at Grindelwald with masked panic in his eyes.

“I thought you said you weren’t a demon?”

Grindelwald smiled.

“I’m not.”

And then the chair bloomed into life. Stretching and warping and moving the poor little detective with it. The man wriggled fitfully as wood melted into soft linens, dragging him from upright to spread eagle on his back, pinned to a mattress. Wrists pinned above his head, exposing the long and elegant line of his lithe body. 

“How-?!” The question ceased, snatched up in his throat as Grindelwald twirled his fingers in plain sight and popped the top button of the man’s shirt wandlessly. Then another, and another, and another - pulling a little gasp from the man with each inch of revealed skin that followed until finally, the two sides of his shirt parted by gravity alone. Pearly skin, topped off with two rosy, pebbled nipples. Grindelwald licked his lips, and on the bed, Graves shuddered.

“What are you doing?” Graves asked, only to cringe at the soft hush of his own panic in those words. His captor grinned.

“You wanted to see behind the curtain, didn’t you?” He purred, walking forward to lean down and touch the detective for himself. Relishing in his heat, in the way he writhed when he tweaked one of those lovely nipples. 

And something like understanding began to connect, a light growing in his eyes, but Grindelwald quickly stifled it beneath another wave of concern as he flicked his wrist, popping the man’s trouser button easily. 

“You Muggles,” he crooned as he undid the zip without ever once touching the man’s pants, shimmying the fabric down one magical tug at a time until the man was bare, pants and brief at his ankles with his boots. “So enamored with your guns and weapons. You think you’re so powerful. In control. You know so little. You understand so little. Let me show you the truth,” he said as he moved to hover over the long line of his captive’s body, framing his head with his forearms to speak into his pursed lips. “Let me show you how powerless you Muggles really are.”

He leaned back, straddling the man’s lithe waist, and twirled one hand until finally, the detective’s gun slowly came to rest within it. He held it to the light and made a show of checking its ammo. Eyes on Graves, he removed all the bullets but one, letting them tinkle and drop on the detective’s bare belly. Then he snapped the clip back up into the stock with a click and smiled.

“Are you ready, detective?”

Below him, the detective clenched his jaw, but in his eyes Grindelwald saw fear and the beginning of understanding. With a kiss to the air, Grindelwald quickly moved to flip the man over, magically pulling and pushing him into place, until he finally had his little pet project just as he wanted him - on all fours, shoulders down and ass up.

He put the man’s cheek, bare and soft and surprisingly plush for a man, and purred, “I’m going to enjoy this,” but snapping his fingers, drinking in the sound of Graves sharp gasp when suddenly his anus was filled to oozing with lubricant. 

Another snap and the muscle winking at him slackened suddenly. Another and it widened to gaping, as though it had been fucked for hours already. 

Below him, Graves whimpered. Confused, frightened, but when Grindelwald reached to touch him. To tease him into liking it, he found Graves’ prick had already beat him to it. And oh, how that pleased him. What a perfect pet. So clever, so observant, so wonderfully entertaining for a Muggle. 

He grabbed him, squeezed him, and grinned.

“Enjoying yourself, detective? Maybe you were made for this world. What an injustice that you aren’t part of it… but perhaps that could be changed.”

Before Graves could deny it or protest or ask him what he meant, he stilled at the feel of something cold and hard at his gaping hole, already peeking in. His gun.

He swallowed, and Grindelwald moved his hand to press overtop his heart, just to feel the dancing of that frightened organ just beneath. The pitter patter of survival instincts hammering against his ribs, against his captor’s palm. Grindelwald kissed his shoulder and slowly pushed the barrel in.

“I have such glorious plans for this world, pet,” he crooned, pushing the barrel in as far as it would go before dragging out again - the notch for sighting dragging cruelly on his insides until it finally caught on his rim, only to push in again. His hand on the man’s dick pulling and dragging in exactly the same rhythm. “To put things right. To put things in their proper order. The way it always should have been.”

“And what order is that?” Graves gasped, trying to cling to his duty as a cop as though that might be his floating plank of sanity in a sea of crushing sensations. 

With a jerk, Grindelwald shoved the gun in deep again and at an angle, knocking the breath from Graves’ lungs at it hit that little bundle of nerves within, making him arch and writhe as his captor leaned in to purr into his ear.

“Me,” he said, “And my kind, ruling over yours.”

Then he jerked the gun back and forth in short, sharp little bursts against the man’s prostate, making him shout and wail as pleasure raced up his spine and numbed his limbs. So full of sensation he was more a live wire than a man, too overwhelmed to do much more than stay stock still and shake. 

He squeezed the detective’s length. Thumb swirling around that sensitive head before peeking a hint of thumbnail into it’s silt. Teeth buried into his shoulder in a grin, leaving a perfect mark behind before kissing the hurt away and saying, “Have you figured out what I am yet, detective?”

Graves shook his head, eyes blank with pleasure, mouth open on nothing. Gasping on each thrust until finally, Grindelwald dug that barrel up hard and ground it unforgivingly into his prostate. Making him cry, tears burning the span of his cheeks as lube gushed fitfully from his clenchingly full anus. 

And then Grindelwald pulled the trigger. Graves felt the snap of the hammer falling. Felt his heart sear high and sharp and fast at the thought. All his muscles seized tight in fear - only the bullet never came, and instead his fear merely sank the gun harder against his prostate. His vision burst into stars, his eyes filled with the kiss of the milky way and all it had to offer as he came. White ropes of need soiling the sheets, his belly and everything in between. 

All feeling fled him. Left him shivering and frail like a late fall leaf. Held up only by Grindelwald’s magic until that too failed him and he melted into the sheets. With a shaking breath, Graves looked up at his captor through fluttering lashes and asked, “But the bullet?”

Grindelwald twirled his hand this way, then that - elegant and mesmerizing - and suddenly the bullet with revealed between his fingers. Innocent and gleaming. 

Graves shivered, eyes darting from the bullet to Grindelwald’s mismatched gaze. Grindelwald grinned.

“Do you know what I am now?” He asked.

Graves swallowed.

“God,” he whispered, and Grindelwald stilled - only for his face to peel into a horrid, filthy grin. Hungry and pleased and oh so pleasantly excited.

“Wrong,” he whispered back as he lowered himself to swallow Graves’ hushed fear into a kiss, “But you have the rest of your pitiful Muggle life to figure it out, pet. God, for now, will do.”


	2. A Different Kind of Worship

His hands were going numb chained up to the ceiling as they were, held high on a meat hook that left him just barely able to touch the floor. He had been straining to stay on his tiptoes for a good twenty minutes before his captor ever entered the room, the man who had drugged him at a bar – or had he done something  _else_ , something  _unexplainable? –_  and tied him to a chair with no ropes and had his way with him with his, with his…

With his own weapon, his only means of defense. His gun made useless and turned into a glorified dildo. That, more than anything, made his blood turn to ice in his veins. What could he use against the man if his gun were a mere toy in his eyes?

Nothing now. His fingers throbbed and he knew they’d be pale and clammy, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful Grindelwald had used chains instead of more magic. Chains were real. Chains he could wrap his head around, even if they hurt. Even if they bruised.

The door swung open and he stiffened immediately, but even so his calved still quivered, exhausted from trying to bear his weight. Behind him where he couldn’t see, Grindelwald made a sympathetic noise.

“Getting tired, pet?”

“No,” Graves spat before he could stop himself, anger rising where fear threatened to suffocate him. 

“Good,” Grindelwald purred, “Because I have no intention of letting you down just yet.”

He prayed. God help him, he hadn’t stepped foot in a church in years, but he prayed. What else could he do in the face of this man who can restrain him with nothing but his will and a few words? He had turned a chair into a bed. He had taken the bullet from the chamber of the gun while he was using it to fuck him. And Graves was his prisoner, chained up like meat for his amusement.

He flinched when two hands landed on his hips – clad in trousers, he knew, simply so Grindelwald could have the thrill of stripping it from him again. He had not been so generous with a shirt though. His nipples stood hard on his chest in the chill and Grindelwald’s hands were so warm on his waist.

Thumbs brushed over his belly, then came back down and around to grip either of his cheeks.

“Hmph,” the man said, unimpressed. He squeezed and that sound turned into something intrigued, something excited. Graves’ felt his stomach begin to fall.

“Flat,” Grindelwald said idly, “But that can be changed.”

The second the words left his mouth, Graves felt the hands upon his ass heat up even further through the thin fabric of his slacks. He whimpered when he began to feel his flesh tingle. He writhed his hips in a lame attempt to get away, but his calves cramped and he had no leverage. He lost his footing and his ass fell even further into the madman’s hands, only his slacks were beginning to feel tighter. For a minute he thought he must be getting hard based off the way his crotch felt restrained and smothered, but as the sound of groaning stitches met his ears, he realized the impossible truth. The demon behind him, the witch, the god – whatever – was sculpting his ass into something thick and plush. 

The first thread of the seam of the seat of his pants that snapped left him whimpering. His waist band cut angrily into his hips, leaving puffy red marks behind. The second thread made him flinch and try to hide his face. And then a whole set followed after a long, pregnant moment – spreading quick around the sudden heft of his cheeks.

Grindelwald purred, pleased, and grabbed either cheek rudely. He massaged them in rough circles, smashing them together and then separating them to expose a tightly clenched hole between them. 

“Oh how I am going to enjoy this,” he said, squeezing none too gently. “Groping, pinching, spanking, fucking – all the things I’m going to do to see these cheeks all sweet and rosy around my dick.”

“Don’t,” Graves gasped even as he heard the man’s zipper fall and his button plucked. A hard dick wedged itself easily between his cheeks and he knew without it even penetrating him, his cheeks smothered it perfectly.

Behind him, Grindelwald began to thrust up into the squished clench of his prisoner’s swollen ass, either hand sandwiching each cheek perfectly around his prick. He leaned forward to kiss the man’s shoulder and asked, “Don’t what? Don’t stop?  _Greedy boy_.”

Graves felt another burst of growth dimple his flesh around Grindelwald’s unyielding fingers and he sobbed into the taut suspension of his bicep, horrified even as his dick began to fight against the ruined prison of his pants.

God help him, _it felt amazing._


	3. Congregation

“I think I’ll take you for a walk today, pet,” Grindelwald said, casual as though it were of no consequence – as though it were not an opportunity for escape. Graves’ eyes jerked up from his numb, closed off stare at the floor, unable to continue his ‘cold shoulder’ tactics in light of that.

Graves forced the hope blooming in his chest down and narrowed his eyes even as Grindelwald stood at the edge of the bed he was chained too and waved his shackles away in a burst of smoke. Graves rubbed at the chaffing that was left behind, skin pink with discomfort in a mockery of shackles that would take days to fade. 

“You’re playing with me.”

“Of course I am. You’re my pet. That’s what pets are for: entertainment.”

Grindelwald said the words without even looking at him, busying himself instead with preparing. He threw clothing onto the bed and said, “I thought I might take you out for real food. An opportunity for you to prove to me that you can be trusted off the chain. Behave and I’ll begin to let you live here with only one shackle. Fail, and I will show you that your disobedience is not brave, but rather foolish – you are no longer a free man, you are mine.”

Graves bristled and grit his teeth, but forced it all down beneath a gentle chanting in his mind: this was it, his chance to escape.

He was given clothing like a proper man might wear. Slim slakes that hug his newly plush ass too tightly, quite nearly lewdly, but flatter his slender thighs and waist all the same. He blushed when he sees the way his butt pops out from his back, taut like a bubble. He forced himself to focus on buttoning his shirt, cheeks flushed and eyes averted from Grindelwald’s watchful, smirking stare.

He was given shoes, an expensive and strangely accurately tailored coat. His hair was tamed from its captive, messy state. He was given a fresh shave by magic and magic alone, his skin tingling and his heart racing – but soon he’ll be free.

“Where are we going?”

He only added ‘sir’ through grit teeth after Grindelwald stared at him and said nothing.

“You’ll recognize it once we arrive, pet. Think of it like a surprise.”

They didn’t go in a town car. Grindelwald seized him by the elbow and they simply disappeared, reappearing in a blink as though they had been across town all day and Graves had simply forgot. He felt sick but swallowed it down, forcing his spine taut when Grindelwald steadied him as though he were something fragile to take care of.

Grindelwald escorted him from the alley briskly after that, rounding a corner, one possessive hand on the small of Graves’ back just above his new addition. 

He takes him to a joint in town as infamous for its chef as it was for the caliber of its guests. The most powerful men and women in New York ate inside these four walls, their chairs bought by money as much by influence. Graves had shared a meal inside this place only once before, when he made detective after closing a case that had taken New York like fire, leaving the citizen’s terrified and the city without rest. 

Now he walked in as a ‘pet’.

He nearly jerked away when Grindelwald tried to walk him inside at first, his pride too wounded by the change in his life to bear it. But he reminded himself of the opportunity ahead and allowed his captor to take him inside.

There was a table awaiting him, it turned out. Grindelwald merely had to say his name and they were taken to an expensive table; and they weren’t alone. There were men and women there, waiting for them. Grindelwald pulled out a chair for Graves as though he were a fair dame, and flushing Graves realized he’d have to play along. He took his seat and tried to focus on identifying the other guests.

With a shock, he realized he knew them.

A prominent politician and her husband. The police commissioner and his wife. A journalist – in fact the very same woman who had covered his story when he had cracked that case a year ago. A businessman considered to be one of the most wealthy man in New York and his concubine. And finally, Grindelwald and Graves. 

Grindelwald greeted and was received as though he were a dear friend. It turned Graves’ guts to see it. It turned his guts even more not to be  _recognized_  by the man who had rewarded him for his service to the city, or by the person who had written the story, or by the politician who had sought his ‘vote’.

None of them said a word. Beyond that, they didn’t even appear to recognize him in the slightest. They were either the most talented actors in the world or they had in fact forgotten him even though he knew his “missing” report was still running in the papers – Grindelwald enjoyed making him piss on them like a dog.

“Who is your stunning partner this lovely night?” The commissioner’s wife asked, her lashes hooded as she took him in as though he were something of a prize when he felt nothing more than average in his suit.

Grindelwald purred and made a show of taking his hand above the table and traces the back of it with a loving thumb.

“We recently began to court one another. I’m a lucky man to have found him.”

The commissioner raised his glass and said, “Here, here!”

Bread came, then appetizers – rich foods that were ridiculously small considering their price. Finger food of the finest quality. It wasn’t until they began to eat that he realized that the other patrons of the restaurant were leaving one group at a time and their seats were not filling again.

He didn’t comment on it, but he took note of it. When next he caught Grindelwald’s gaze already upon him, he knew the man was aware of his knowledge of it as well. It appeared to please him. Graves would have to wait.

After a full glass of wine, the lady politician rose to politely excuse herself to the bathroom. Graves followed her with just his eyes and noted that the bathrooms were decently tucked away and out of sight. His heart began to race and he drank his wine a little more quickly, as well as his water – just to look the part.

When the waiter came to take their orders, Graves rose with a shy smile and said, “Order for me, won’t you? You know better than I would what I’d like from a menu this nice.”

The folks around the table cooed as the commissioner joked with his wife if she’d like the same service, to which she promptly stated that if she allowed such foolishness the wait staff would end up delivering her a cow instead of a steak, he enjoyed his meat so bloody. The table lifted into a crescendo of polite laughter, which Grindelwald took the opportunity to lean in intimately and purr, “Don’t dawdle, pet.”

He flushed and walked away as unhurriedly as he dared, not to disobey Grindelwald but rather not to give himself away. As soon as he was around the corner he picked up his pace. There were no windows in the bathroom, as it turned out, but there was a hallway just passed it that led to the kitchens and that would have to do.

He slipped past them and walked as confidently as he could as wait staff squawked and chefs continued to cook – too hurried to be bothered with stopping him. Until, that was, a large hulking man blocked the exit to the alley at the end of the kitchen. Graves didn’t know how he missed him, honestly. Charmed, perhaps, as everything involving Grindelwald was.

The man seized him by the bicep and growled, “You ain’t supposed to be back here,” and Graves didn’t wait a second longer. He reached for a frying pan from the nearby dish rack and laid into the man as hard as he could. A set of staff nearby shrieked. The goon collapsed against the door, pinning it closed as consciousness left him. Graves cursed and tried to move him, but the man was easily twice his size. He had to grab him by the ankles and haul, and even then it was slow work, the man’s face squealing against the tile. 

Grindelwald waited until Graves had gotten as far as unblocking the door before stealing all the strength from his limbs slowly, relishing the confused – and then desperately frustrated way in which Graves tried to make his way out the door, unable to pull it open, unable to hold himself up, and slowly melted to the ground.

His breath was heaving when Grindelwald reached him, his heart thundering and his eyes wide as Grindelwald clucked a disappointed sound with his tongue and frowned, “Oh pet, why do you do this to yourself?”

Graves opened his mouth to answer but only a whine escaped, making him flush angrily. 

“Do I not give you enough attention? Is that why you act out?” Grindelwald said as he flickered his fingers and suddenly another person’s will flooded Graves from toes to fingers, forcing him to his feet. It wasn’t graceful, not with how hard he fought it, but still his body obeyed. “You remember the deal, I’m sure. Let’s get you sorted out.”

Grindelwald marched him back to the table and their guests look surprised to see Graves’ hair a little out of place.

“Everything alright?” One asked.

“Quite,” Grindelwald said, “We’re still training I’m afraid. I may have pushed him too soon. You know how it is with pups. Don’t train them right and they’ll act out for attention.”

“Of course, what a silly young pup.”

Graves felt the floor tilt beneath his feet, his stomach bottomed out. These men and women were not perturbed by Grindelwald in the slightest. He wasn’t among friends here, or at least not  _his_ friends. No friends of justice. He whimpered before he could stop himself.

“Would any of you be bothered if I reprimanded him? I fear waiting might mean the lesson won’t sink in quite right.”

“Of course, friend, go right ahead!” The commissioner boomed, something hungry in his eye. His wife looked even more attracted to the idea as she procured a fan and began to idly fan herself, eyes on him.

“By all mean, please do,” she said, “I’ve been wondering how you train your pets so well.”

_Jesus, they knew. They were complicit even._

Grindelwald came up behind him and whispered – loud enough for the others to hear – into his ear, “Strip.”

God help him, he did. His hands worked on their own accord, that will flooding him again and making him shake as he removed his coat and let it slip to the floor. He popped one button after another and shrugged free of that garment too, then loosened his belt and slipped free of his shoes, his socks and his slacks. His hands shook the fiercest when he finally removed his undergarments in front of the man who had made him detective.

He couldn’t even hide his modesty, his hands forced to the small of his back in what he could only describe as obediently presenting himself to them all.

The journalist whistled. The commissioner’s wife continued to fan herself and purred. The commissioner once again congratulated Grindelwald on his find. “A fine pet, once trained,” he had said, making Graves shiver.

Grindelwald sat back at the table but pushed his chair back so they all might see him better as he removed himself from his trousers, his cock poking out only enough to be able to fuck, and said, “Sit.”

He wanted to sit where he was, but he knew where Grindelwald meant. He knew it even as his body moved to confirm it. His hole began to ooze though Grindelwald made no obvious display of magic. It slackened and when Graves sat, Grindelwald slid into him fluidly, without issue. He sat so he faced his audience. His lashes were wet, his cheeks hot, and between his thighs his cock sat limp and uninterested.

“Aw, he must be a shy little thing, isn’t he?”

“Indeed,” Grindelwald purred but did not reach for him. Instead he began to guide Graves into a lewd rhythm, forcing the man’s hips to dance eagerly, aiming – Graves knew – for the thing that would get him hard regardless. The moment Grindelwald found his prostate Graves knew it was over. Against his belly, he slowly began to rise and bob.

“Well he’s just beautiful all over, isn’t he?”

The voices were beginning to blur like his vision as he bounced on Grindelwald’s lap. His breath came in hot, sharp bursts that left him aching. They treated him like a toy or a… pet. Shame turned his neck and chest and the tips of his ears red, and gently Grindelwald kissed his nape and purred, “Catching on?”

“Please,” Graves whimpered before he could stop himself.  _Not in front of them, not here, not like this, please, I’ll be–_

He shut down the thought before he could think ‘ _good’,_ horrified by his own thoughts. Grindelwald chuckled as though he had heard it regardless. He stroked and toyed and pinched at Graves’ cock as though it were a cute little bobble to be played with, and all their guests cooed, egged on by his display.

“So lithe and tender, so shy and wet – would you ever consider sharing?”

Graves felt bile creep up his throat as Grindelwald made a show of thinking about it and finally said, “Perhaps when he’s trained; he’s a bit too willful now, as you can see.”

“Of course. You are nothing if not thorough.”

“But please, don’t let me absorb the conversation. He can be a good and quiet pet,” Grindelwald said, one hand reaching up to tap Graves’ throat. It tingled and suddenly Graves knew he was silenced, that any objection would merely melt into moans and purrs and lewd things. “Commissioner, I’m so sorry about your boy. He was a bit of a rising star, wasn’t he? Whatever happened to him?”

Graves felt electricity stiffen him, eyes flashing open to catch the raw disappointment that bloomed over the man’s face.

“It’s truly tragic. Percival was precisely that, a rising star of justice. The city is darker without him; we found his car the other day. Charred and… Unfortunately, he was inside.”

Grindelwald continued to fuck him as though this were totally appropriate not only in front of others, but in light of the dark mood of the conversation. His voice was suitable regretful as he said, “My condolences, Commissioner. The city didn’t deserve him.”

“No,” the man said, “It didn’t.” Completely unaware that Graves was alive and before him, getting his hole reamed and stretched by a thick, obtrusive cock. Graves whimpered and finally let his head hang, his heart constricted in his chest as Grindelwald kept up his relentless, steady pace.

“Poor thing,” the politician said, “He’s got no mind for complicated matters like this. Put him out of his misery and fuck him properly, Herr Grindelwald, he deserves the dicking he acted out for.”

Grindelwald rose and set Graves’ hands atop the table, bending him over before them all. He kept both hands pinned by his own larger ones, stroking him gently as though they were eager, understood lovers rather than a captor and his prisoner. He fucked him so hard the table shook, though none of the wine spilled. He fucked tiny sounds from Graves’ throat, then steadily louder and louder ones. He kissed and purred and praised and pulled Graves apart before those who could have freed him.

“I told you I’d take care of you,” Grindelwald said. “You won’t doubt me again now, will you, pet?”

Graves shook his head and took it. He bore the heavy brunt of their audience’s cooing and disgusting praise, and tried not to think of how it was beginning to seep in, how their compliments were beginning to  _affect_ him. 

“Will you cage him next?” One asked. “I always love your artistry with cages.”

Grindelwald perched his chin atop Graves’ shoulder and purred, “Would you like that, pet?”

Graves vision went white and he came before them all, coming to only once Grindelwald had settled them back into his chair and kept Graves atop his dick, still fucking him lightly despite the way he melted into his hold. His head lolled, his eyes felt heavy.

The dicking didn’t stop.


End file.
